


Superhjälte

by WoozleBucket



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen, More awkwardness, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6790528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozleBucket/pseuds/WoozleBucket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a young boy to a young man (though some may say otherwise), Rythian was 'special'. That's why he left home. Now he has a roommate that he totally doesn't have a crush on, a lizard-man crashing on his couch, and the police after his alter ego, Enderborn. But, hey, at least he's not dead! (yet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first multichaptered fic. My first work using superheroes. My first time attempting to write any action whatsoever. I have a feeling this'll be kind of awkward. But, hey, at least this won't kill me unlike other things I'm working on!
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Ursäkta mig min herre? = Excuse me sir?
> 
> Kan du förstå mig? = Can you understand me?
> 
> Åh, gör du inte, eller hur? = Oh, you don't, right?
> 
> Varför är du fortfarande pratar med mig om vi inte kan förstå varandra? = Why are you still talking to me if we can not understand each other?
> 
> Nu det är ett ord jag kan få bakom! Hur mycket pratar du? = Now that's a word I can get behind! How much are you talking?
> 
> Jävla helvete = Fucking hell  
> =====================================================  
> These translations are completely from Google Translate, so don't be offended if these are wrong. I may have missed a few, so let me know if you can't guess the meanings from context clues!

“Ursäkta mig min herre?” the young boy called out, interrupting the older man walking down the darkening streets. The sun was falling, the storm clouds were rolling in, the shops were closing, and the street rats were coming out to play. The older man was heading home with two pounds of steak under his arm for him and his wife, no kids, not anymore, for dinner. It would probably last them the month if they were careful enough. The older man tried to ignore the young boy’s cry, but the sheer emotion in the words forced him to a stop. 

He stopped and looked down at the young boy sitting in an alcove just off the main street. The boy looked up at him with blue eyes that seemed to be glowing, or was that just him? The boy’s tannish skin was glistening from the light drizzle. He wore a patchwork coat of blues and reds and greens that seemed to barely be holding itself together. He was obviously a street rat, the new “scum of society”. But the way the boy was looking up at the older man….

“Kan du förstå mig?” the boy asked. When the older man just looked at him confusedly, the young boy hung his head. “Åh, gör du inte, eller hur?”

“Erm,” the older man hesitantly said, “you’re foreign, aren’t you?”

The young boy looked at him with the same expression the older man had just given him.

“Oh, uh, rather stupid question, wasn’t it?” he laughed.

“Varför är du fortfarande pratar med mig om vi inte kan förstå varandra?” the young boy asked, tilting his head slightly to the left. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but I’m guessing that you want money or food or something else like that,” the older man said. 

“Money” seemed to be the one word the boy understood, as was evident by him straightening up.

“Nu det är ett ord jag kan få bakom! Hur mycket pratar du?” the boy nodded, standing up. Despite his young ae, the boy was nearly as tall as the older man.

“Erm, I don’t usually do this, but would you like to come home to have dinner with my wife and I?”

The young boy looked at him, then he looked at the steak, then he looked back up at the man and pointed at the steak, then he pointed from the steak at his own chest.

“Uh, that’s right! If you’ll just follow me,’’ the older man said, reaching to grab the young boy’s hand, who promptly pulled it away, flinching. The older man understood and just gestured for him to follow behind. He then walked in the direction of his and his wife’s old, beaten-down apartment and only looked behind him once. And that one time, he saw the young boy following behind at a distance.

**Twenty Years Later**

The man in the mask waved his gun around wildly, shooting a few bullets into the ceiling for good measure. Several customers of the little diner cowered on the floor, most of them underneath the tables. The cashier huddled behind the register while the kitchen staff was being “handled” by another masked man. An old woman lay on the grungy tile floor dead, her blood still seeping out from underneath her wallpaper-like dress. A baby was crying and thusly was being calmed by her barely-calmer mother. 

“Hurry up with that register, dollface,” the masked man ordered, still waving his gun around. “I’ve got places to be.” 

The cashier jumped and opened the register, pulling out a few stacks of bills and several dozen coins. The gunman looked at the money on the counter and laughed. 

“Are you kidding me? That’s all you have? You’ve got to have more than this, I mean, just look at how busy it was before me and my brother showed up!” 

“ ‘Ey, don’t you talk about me without me there! It’s rude!” the other man, the one in the kitchen, called. 

“You’re rude!” the gunman called back. 

“Wow, great comeback, bro!” 

“Shut the hell up and come search behind the counter!” 

“Can’t! Ya told me to stay back here and make sure nobody squeals or nothin’!” 

“And I gotta make sure that I don’t strain my back bending over behind the counter!” 

One customer couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the exchange. He really didn’t have time for any of this. 

“Now,” the masked man said, turning back to the girl behind the counter. “I think you’ll have the rest of that money now.” 

The same customer who had rolled his eyes rolled them again, this time adding, “I’m not really thinking that is something that is going to happen.” 

His words seemed forced out and were laced with a heavy-ish accent. The gunman spun around and his eyes darted around the diner, looking from person to person. 

“Who said that!?” he yelled. The costumer rolled his eyes and the gunman caught the movement. “Hey, you!” 

The customer looked around wildly, a put-on, innocent expression on his face. “Who, me?” 

“Yes, you. What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Uh, I was eating a very nice salad before you came in, if that was what you were asking. Other than that, I was just rolling my eyes at your idiocy,” the man shrugged, gesturing down at the mentioned salad still sitting on his plate. The gunman immediately aimed the gun at his head. 

“What did you just say to me, bitch?” he growled. 

“The only bitch here is you, I’m afraid,” the man smirked, his eyes gleaming. He was having a good time. After all, it had been forever since anything like this had happened to him. 

The masked man pulled the trigger and frowned when the gun just clicked. “What the-” 

“You’re out of bullets. You fired them all into the ceiling a couple of minutes ago. I am sorry about that, really I am. Maybe you can kill me next time,” he said before picking up his fork and taking a bite of his salad. He made a face as he swallowed and put the fork down on the plate and pushed it away. “Jävla helvete, this is really disappointing. What a rip-off. Trust me, this diner is not worth robbing. Not really worth saving, either, if you're into that kind of stuff.” 

“There isn’t going to be a next time. Trust me,” the masked man said, pulling another gun out of his waistband. The customer blinked. 

“Huh. I didn’t really anticipate that.” 

The gunman appeared to smile underneath his mask. “Now, what were you saying about me being an idiot?” 

The customer stood up slowly and pulled the purple scarf around his neck up over his mouth and nose. “You heard me, sköljning. You’re an idiot, and so’s your brother in the other room.” 

The gunman snorted. “Don’t I know it. The guy tried to put cereal in the toaster the other day. The only way we can even think about affording a new one is by robbing this shithole. I’m a pretty nice guy when I’m not threatening other people’s lives.”  
“Huh, that’s funny,” the customer said. “So am I.” 

The gunman didn’t have time to consider what the man had said before an invisible force pulled the gun out of his hand and over to the man. (Were his eyes glowing, or was it just him?) The stranger’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he snatched the weapon out of the air and spun it aorund to face the masked man. He aimed, then fired two rounds right into the man’s forehead. The gunman slumped onto the floor right next to the old woman. Several people screamed and the baby started wailing again. The masked man’s brother ran into the main room of the diner, his gun drawn. 

“The hell’s going on in here!? Sam? Hey, Sam?” he asked, his eyes going wide as he saw his brother’s body laying on the ground motionless. Then he looked up at the man holding the gun and pointed his up at his chest. The man lowered the gun and took out what the brother supposed were the last three bullets. 

“Dumb move, friend,” he said. “Taking out the bullets. Now what’s gonna protect you?” 

“Huh. You really are stupid, aren’t you?” the man said, stepping out from his table and making his way slowly over to the brother. “I only fired two. Even that babby over there could tell me that.” 

“Yeah, like you can kill me with o-” the brother said before falling dead onto the floor. The customer wiped the handle of the gun off with his scarf before placing it next to the old woman. He then pulled the scarf down and looked at the salad. The baby stopped crying and looked at him with wide eyes. The man locked eyes with her for a moment before walking towards the front door. 

“Still not worth it,” he muttered as he left. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the dialogue! Oh, the dialogue!
> 
> In case you couldn't tell, this is very dialogue heavy.
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Whoah, denna plats suger. = Whoah, this place sucks.
> 
> Det finns en annan? Bra, nu hur kommer vi att dela upp maten jämnt? = There's another? Good, now how we will divide the food evenly?
> 
> Gör inte det. Det är obehagligt. = Don't do that. It's unpleasant. 
> 
> Var inte tala om att bli av med mig. Jag kom precis här, helvete! = Do not talk about getting rid of me! I just got here, damnit!  
> ============================================  
> Keep in mind that I'm using Google Translate for these translations, so pleeeeaaasse don't get offended!

The older man opened the door and gestured for the young boy to go inside. 

“Come on now, I won’t bite,” he smiled. The young boy looked cautiously inside the doorway, poking his head around each corner before entering and standing awkwardly just inside.

“Whoah, denna plats suger,” he said.

The older man closed the door behind him after going in, making sure not to slam it. Last time that door was slammed, it was stuck until the landlord was sober enough to dig up his old oil can. 

The older man heard his wife call from the kitchen/dining area, one of three rooms in the apartment, “Richard, is that you?”

“Yes, dear, and I’ve brought a guest,” he answered, hanging up his coat and scarf on the rack. The young boy was still awkwardly standing there, shuffling his feet and looking down at the wooden floorboards.

“Oh?” she asked, walking into the main room and seeing the young boy. “Who’s this then?”

The boy’s head snapped up and he looked wide-eyed at the older man’s wife. “Det finns en annan? Bra, nu hur kommer vi att dela upp maten jämnt?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I just offered a bit of our dinner and a place to stay for the night until the storm passes,” the older man explained, holding the steak out for his wife to inspect. She snatched it up and looked at it carefully, judging how much each of them could have that night if she split it three ways.

“I don’t know, Richard. I don’t think we have enough…” she sighed, trailing off when she saw the young boy’s blue-eyed gaze. 

“Var inte tala om att bli av med mig. Jag kom precis här, helvete!” the boy complained. 

Her eyes softened. “Well, maybe one night couldn’t hurt.”

The older man smiled at her and she hesitantly smiled back. Then the older man smiled at the young boy and the young boy frowned back.

“Gör inte det. Det är obehagligt,” the young boy grumbled. 

The older man’s wife clapped her hands together, careful to avoid smushing the steak. “I guess I’ll get started on dinner, then. See if your little friend wants to come join me.”  
=====================================================================

**Twenty Years Later**

Zoey was working under the dining room table when she heard the front door open and, consequently, slam shut. She jumped in surprise and quickly wheeled herself out into the open. 

“Hello, Rythian! You’re back early, aren’t you? I thought you said you were going to eat and to the bank and maybe to pick up some stuff from the store, but you’re back early without any bags,” she greeted, jumping up and tackling her roommate in a hug. 

He stumbled back for a second before returning it. “NIce to see you, too, Zoey.”

She pulled out of the hug and looked up at him, crossing her arms with a faux-irritated expression on her face. “Answer my question! Now!”

Rythian stifled a laugh and opened his mouth to answer, but then he remembered what actually happened. “I, uh, had to, uh, stop a robbery?”

She gave him a look. “You what, now?”

“And maybe I could have accidentally killed the people robbing the place?” he added quickly. Zoey groaned and ran a hand through her reddish hair.

“I thought you were done with that!” she groaned.

“I was! It’s just, it’s just, it’s just,” Rythian stammered out before giving up and slumping over slightly. “Okay, you’ve gotten me.”

Zoey walked over and smacked him upside the head. “No shit, Sherlock. Hey, speaking of which, did you see last night’s episode? Totally insane, right?”

Rythian rolled his eyes, semi-grateful for the conversation change. “We watched it together. You cried over the dog.”

“It was a cute dog!”

“And I agree with that statement. But you didn’t need to cry over it.”

Zoey huffed and walked away towards the kitchen, calling behind her, “By the way, Teep says hi.”

Rythian mentally groaned. “Is he still here? I thought we agreed-”

“We agreed that he would leave once he found a new place to live. He hasn’t yet,” Zoey answered. There was a roar of agreement from Rythian’s couch. Well, from what used to be Rythian’s couch. Now it’s been taken over by a mercenary who had just happened to be ordered to kill the “evil” vigilantes, Enderborn and Shroom. And the mercenary also just happened to intrude on an intense Mario Kart race that really did not need to be interrupted. So there Teep stayed, even after getting over the multiple stab wounds and the concussion.

“Well then,” Rythian said. “Tell Teep I say hi back.”

Teep grumbled as Zoey plopped down onto the couch next to him, a big bowl of popcorn in her arm. 

“He also says that he’s not deaf,” Zoey commented. “Now sit your arse down here! We’ve got an episode of Buffy on the player that you and Teep still haven’t seen after, like, twenty billion years.”

Rythian laughed and sat down next to her, shoving Teep’s legs from off her lap so Rythian could put his there instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an entirely flashback chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kinda hard for me to write, but I think I at least sort of made it work.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Dumhavud = Dunce; idiot
> 
> Gud = God
> 
> Nej, dumbom = No, stupid.
> 
> Bebis = Baby
> 
> Mamma = Mom  
> =======================  
> As usual, these are all translations from Google Translate, so don't get too pissy or anything! :-)

**Eighteen Years Earlier**

“Hey, give me that back!”

Rythian frowned and looked down at the book in his hands. It was just sitting out in the middle of the sidewalk and it was starting to rain. Mr. Graham always said to pick up any trash on the street, and judging by the wet, ripped, and colored on cover and the mud dripping off of it, it was probably trash. If it wasn’t, the book’s owner must be a real jerk. Or a dumhuvud. Or both. 

A different boy marched up to him and snatched the book out of his hand, scowling when he saw the state of it. He looked up from the cover and up at Rythian, giving him a glare.

“The heck did you do to it?” he asked, waving the book around. Rythian looked up at him (Gud, this guy was big!), trying to look him straight in the eyes.

“I didn’t do anything to it!” Rythian protested. “I just found it on the ground like this, dumhuvud!”

“What’s a dumhuvud?” the boy asked.

“You.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “What are you, five?”

Rythian stood up on his tiptoes. “Nej, dumbom. I’m a whole nine years old!”

“Wooow, a whole nine? I couldn’t tell,” the boy said. Rythian frowned; he could always tell when sarcasm was being used (he was the master, after all). 

Thunder crackled above and the boy jumped. 

“Bollocks!” he yelped. 

Rythian couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Who’s so tough now, bebis?”

“Sh-shut up!” he said. “And what’s a bebis?”

“You.”

“Oh, God, not this shite again,” the other boy groaned. 

Rythian’s eyes widened. “Mr. Graham says that is a bad word and not ever to say it.”

The boy looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with recognition. “You’re the foreign kid, ain’t ya?”

“Erm,” Rythian squirmed. This guy changed emotions at the drop of a hat and was now acting more friendly than before.

“You are, aren’t you? I mean, really, I should’ve known by the accent and stuff, but, really, I’ve been too busy looking at my book,” he gushed. Rythian slowly started stepping backwards, slightly (read: really) uncomfortable. The boy noticed and frowned.

“Why’re you leaving?” he asked.

“Because you are sort of scaring me,” Rythian admitted. The boy frowned even deeper and seemed to sink slightly into the ground.

“Noooo, not another one!” he groaned. “Why are they always scared?”

“Is this a common occurrence, then?” Rythian asked, titling his head slightly. 

“No! Totally not!” the boy protested, waving his hands, and thus mud-covered book, too, around in front of him.

“Mhmm. Sure. So if it doesn’t happen all that often, then why did you say, ‘why are they always scared’?” 

The boy looked down at his book and seemed to...sniffle? “S-shut up, bebis.”

Rythian felt strangely proud of, and also kind of bad for, this complete stranger. So, in order to make him feel better, he took a deep breath and let all the stress leak out of his body, just the way mamma taught him. It took a moment, but the boy looked up at him and smiled. Once again, drop of a hat. 

“Whoah, that’s so cool!” he grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Are you, like, psychic or something?”

“Uh, I dunno. I guess? Does glowing blue eyes count as being a psykisk?”

“Hell if I know, dude,” the boy shrugged. 

“Then how do you know?” Rythian asked.

The boy put his hands on the sides of his hips and stuck his chest out. “Cause I can read minds, duh!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course I am. I can tell you anything you want!”

“I’m not really thinking that’s how mind reading works,” Rythian commented. The boy gave him a look.

“Your name’s Rythian Hellstrand, you’re from Sweden originally, and you’re thinking that I’m still scary,” the boy listed.

“How..” Rythian started.

“I already told you, Rythian! Don’t you listen to anyone?”

“Not usually.”

“Well, you need to listen to me now!”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cos I’m older. You’re nine, I’m eleven.”

“But I don’t even know your name!” Rythian protested.

The boy slapped a hand to his forehead and gasped. “Really? Well, I’d better introduce myself then.”

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Jones. Lalna Jones.”


End file.
